


your round ripe heart

by ennaih (aquandrian)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Customer Krennic, F/M, Forgot that bit, Jynnic Week, Porn Without Plot, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Stripper Jyn, Utter Filth, an absolute minimum of dialogue, and then didn't even listen to it, cos it's so late at night, i made a whole playlist for this, i make a damned good stripper playlist, just so you know, not saying what it is, sort of, there's a twist sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:57:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9551942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquandrian/pseuds/ennaih
Summary: One more night around the pole takes a new turn.Written for the Porn Without Plot themed day of Jynnic Week.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Babe You Turn Me On_ by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. 
> 
> Would you like to know the whole line? It's _I put one hand on your round ripe heart, and the other down your panties._ I do not care for the p word (yeurk!) but god I love that line.

The music snarls out of the silence. Red light flooding the stage, glittering the poles. The three girls cock their hips and strut out to their spots, twirl into the dance, into the thumping beat. The air of the club is thick with smoke and male pheromones but she doesn’t look beyond the stage anymore. She goes to her knees on the slick durasteel dais and twists around the pole. Her body is an instrument, her body is mute and violent in its eloquence. It screams defiance for her, in the arch out against the brightness, in the kick of her bare leg and the flash of her eyes in the red.

It’s white lace tonight, the mockery of innocence fluttering around her lithe body, white lace froth around her hips that slides up and over her breasts, parting over the layers of a costume that she’ll reveal bit by bit as the music pounds on and the men reach out their hands and their money. Long black boots that go all the way up over her knees and she turns on the point of the needle sharp heel, feels their eyes slide up her.

When she thuds to her hands and knees on the edge of the dais, she sees him in the darkness. A split second of intense dark blue eyes in a narrow elegant face. She gets a confused impression of silver hair and white jacket as the spot sweeps across them, and then she’s back up in the melody, reeled back to the silver pole. Up and around it, ankle and knee, until she's upside down and arching, pulling the white lace from around her torso to fling it aside. 

The song drives her, the darkness and the rhythm. She weaves in between the other girls, they swap poles, swap spotlights, and the men follow, some silent, some cheering. The music twists, she twists with it, onto her back, legs up and apart, so long and slender in the black boots, stiletto heels glinting silver. Her cunt clenches wet in the black knickers, wet with the music, with the slick steel on her bare back. And she throbs, throbs as she crosses her legs and turns over, a predator in satin and leather crouching on the dais, pulling their gazes to her.

Upright, she turns her back to them, pushes out her arse in the black ruffles and wriggles it. Shameless playing to the crowd because that always works, because that gets the credits tossed onto the stage. She wraps her arms around her, undoes the red satin bra, and turns around to tease them. Slinky hips, slinky melody, her thighs parting wide as she drags the bra off and they roar appreciation. All gleaming pale flesh, punctuated by the black heart pasties, black ruffles still on, and the boots that point all the way up to her veiled cunt. Oh it’s delicious, she can never deny it. The heat of the lights, the sweat of her bared skin, and the weight of all those people watching, devouring.

And him.

She sees him now as the lights change, as they sweep red and blue behind her. He sits very close to the stage, very still, and watches her. Silver hair, white jacket and black gloves, one hand resting on the small round table beside him. May as well him as any other.

She slides on her stomach to the edge of the dais and hauls herself up to lock gazes with him. An invite, a smile, the curves of her breasts gleaming with sweat. And he dips his chin a little, a tiny smirk that has her swarming off the stage, swarming into his lap.

No touching. The rules are clear. As the song changes to sultry and relentless, he puts his arms very deliberately by his sides and sits back in the chair. And she straightens up, catches the back of the chair with one hand, and starts to grind down against him. His eyes are very dark blue, fasten intent on her face for a while before they slide down. Down to where she pushes her nearly bare breasts out so close to his face, shameless skin pale and hot. Of course he wants to touch her. The urge thrums between them, in the twitch of his arms, the quickening of his breath. He wants to grab her legs and settle her secure on his lap, on the shape of his cock. She knows because they’re all the same.

So she lifts herself up and rubs her breasts against his face, catching his hot breath in the hot slickness of her cleavage. He can’t touch her but she can run her hands all over his shoulders in the white jacket, find the hidden fastenings, unsnap the silver buckle and the leather belt. He lets her, she moves on him, bare thighs rubbing across his dark wool trousers, cunt thick with wet inside her soaking knickers, and she rides the shape of his stiffening cock. Faster, harder, moaning despite herself, because his elegant stranger face slides against her throat, against the upper curves of her tits, the jut of his nose, the shape of his lips in fleeting impressions of heat. 

The black heart pasties are bold against the whiteness of her skin, and she gasps when she feels his mouth open on one. Glances down to see him break a rule. He sucks on her tit, on the black heart and round ripe curve of her flesh. She breaks the rules for them, grabs both his gloved hands and places them right on her tits, her smile wild with defiance. And then he is grabbing her up, his hands hard on the underside of her thighs. He picks her up and unloads her back onto the stage in a mess of limbs and spilling hair. When she glances over, he’s back in his seat but this time, this time he grins at her and undoes the dark trousers.

She knows instantly, swerves on her knees. Arse up, bare breasts against the sticky durasteel of the dais, she stretches over the edge and takes out his hard cock. Around them, the girls dance on, the lights play across them, and the music grinds the hot air. She knows they’re being watched, feels all the eyes on her as she leans down off the dais and swallows the head of his cock. If he groans, it’s lost in the noise. But his hand is on her hair, slides down the sweaty curve of her back as she closes her fist around him and sucks deeper, sucks harder, sucks the taste of him because she can, because she wants to, because suddenly he tastes so fucking good. Because they watch her do this. 

She could be fucked like this. Some faceless person to come up behind her, tear the black ruffles apart and expose her cunt, take her like this as she sucks greedily on this man’s large pretty cock, the salt of him down her throat, the wet of him on her lips. She wants it desperately but then he’s standing and reaching over her back. Then his fingers are plunging into the ruffles, dragging them down, and she moans around his flesh.

He takes hold of her hips and pulls her off him, turns her around like she’s his toy. She gasps at the thought, and then gasps as he pushes her forward and pulls the knickers down to her thighs, bares her bottom to him, bares her aching cunt. Red light, hot air, and then then she’s arching in moans as he puts his fingers inside her. Right there as the girls slide on either side of them, as the men reach for the girls, credits spilling onto the stage. His fingers go deep, open her up, and pinch at her clit, making her flinch and cry out, pushing at him. She looks back to see the moment he bends his face to her arse, cries out at the moment his tongue enters her cunt, a firm wet intrusion that is so intimate and so delicious she melts. Long filthy licks as he spreads her arse and plays with her throbbing clit. She is pushed down, face and tits against the clammy steel, fucked by his fingers, fucked by his tongue in front of everyone.

He lets go of her to shed the jacket. As the strobes flash, his eyes glitter ice blue, depraved and beautiful on her. Shameless, she moans and spreads her knees further, presents cunt and arse to him, all for the taking. And he pushes the trousers below his hips, his cock jutting out hard and so much bigger than it felt in her mouth. It excites her terribly, she flattens herself against the smeared steel and cries out when he drives his cock into her, too deep too fast too big. 

He hauls her to the edge of the dais and fucks her like she’s any young whore for the taking. She trembles and cries out on his cock, comes and comes and comes. His hands are on her tits, pulling at the secured pasties like he wants to get at her nipples. She keeps coming, hammered with relentless pleasure, weeping and coming, shaking and coming, like she’s being fucked by every man in the club, like he is every man in the club. His fingers pull at her clit, he’s heavy on her back, heart pounding against her, his cock pounding into her. And then his fingers are in her mouth, her head pulled back so the beautiful eyes gleam on the edge of her vision. He says something to her but it’s lost in the sleazy music and then she’s lost in the tumult of him coming inside her, of him pushing her down and fucking her through his climax, of her final exquisitely sweet dissolve.

The music slows and distorts. The garish lights dim and go out to a darkness and a silence. 

Jyn registers the distant whirring of the holo projector winding down. Atop her, Krennic winces and eases himself out of her. “You all right,” he asks, his voice rough, hands already petting her with some anxiety.

“I’m fine. Oh god. I’m fine. Let me --”

This time he gathers her up into his arms, takes a few steps, and they tumble onto the wide softness of their bed. “Fuck, that was intense,” he mutters into her hair, arms still locked around her.

“Mm. It’s a good program. We should --” she yawns mightily and presses her face against his throat, doing her best flat pancake impression. “You should give them the go ahead.”

He chuckles. “I reckon. Much better than the Death Trooper training sims, then?”

“Oh, much. Good choice.” She pats him on whatever part within reach. “Well done.”

The Director of the Imperial Army makes a very happy burble in his throat and cuddles his personal Death Trooper as they drift off to sleep.

The new simulation program will definitely be approved.

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. It's in the Death Trooper AU, sorry not sorry for saying that upfront. :p
> 
> What? 
> 
> I've been wanting to write a stripper fic for ages. But then I couldn't decide between this or the other one for PWP day. So I decided to do both.


End file.
